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2. Two

Two

Thomas

“ T homas, remember this week is the ‘day in a life’ piece about you and the team, so please be accommodating to the young lady who is coming to interview you.” Chris Verco, my team owner and manager, pointed his finger at me while speaking.

I raised my shoulders. “I’m always accommodating,” I answered, trying to conceal a snort.

“Yeah, you’re about as accommodating as a spider in my shoe, mate. You know what I mean. Be nice.”

I didn’t want to be nice to the media. I didn’t even want to do this stupid interview. I was an athlete, not a marketing genius. I couldn’t wait to see what stuck-up, hoity-toity news reader they sent this time. Sometimes, I felt like a puppet and a monkey at the same time, being told to smile, pose, laugh, and be happy. This side of the job was not for me.

I straightened up in my chair and did a fake salute. “Yes, sir, will be on my best behaviour.” Will, my teammate, rolled his eyes at me and then focused back on the front of the briefing room.

Today was the start of weeklong preparations for the racing season, which would begin in three weeks. Meetings upon meetings, driver test days, and my own personal hell, driver promotional shoots. The problem with being in the public eye these days was all the social media shit. I didn’t want to be the face of anything. I just wanted to drive my cars and do a good job. I wasn’t sure why I detested the media so much. I guess it was because I’d never taken their word as gospel.

My parents made their living by breeding premium racehorses. There was always some news reader or journalist at our house taking photos of the next up-and-coming racehorse to supposedly win the Melbourne Cup. I guess I felt violated by them from the get-go. They were still following me, and, even worse, I had to placate them with a fa?ade.

I know. Poor, rich Thomas Henry-Jackson, the racehorse stud’s son. What does he know about suffering? Fortunately, thanks to my family’s hard work, not a lot.

This might’ve made me stuck up, entitled, or even a bit of a snowflake, but I fought tooth and nail to be in my current position. If Chris hadn’t taken a chance on me, I would’ve still been floating around and helping race teams by cleaning the garage floor. I deserved to be where I was, and I was not going to let anything get in my way.

“Jackson, are you with us, mate?” Chris’s voice broke me out of my daydream. “It would be helpful if you listened to your own driver strategy.”

I focused back on Chris. “Sorry, mate. I’m here.”

After the briefings, I dragged myself from the boardroom over to my office to grab my shit and head home. I would do a few laps of the pool to decompress after such an information-heavy day. My older brother, Xavier, called me halfway through the trip to catch up. He lived in Melbourne and worked as a builder, with his own successful business. I was proud of what he had achieved already, given he was only a few years older than me.

“So, what’s the favourite son up to lately?” Xavier asked over the phone, his voice echoing from wherever he was.

“Bullshit. You’re the favourite son. I don’t get a look in anymore,” I replied, laughing as I knew it was true—he actually was the favourite child.

“I have that interview soon with the Sydney paper, my least favourite thing—stuck-up newsreaders—but anyway, enough of that. What’s new with you, mate?

“Yeah, just finishing up a build here. It hasn’t been going well with timber supplies and mortgage rate rises. No one can afford to finish on time.” I heard him say something in the distance to someone.

“Yawn. Have you got anything else to talk about other than timber?” I retorted.

“Get fucked. Least I build something with my hands. You wouldn’t dream of getting those pretty digits dirty in your line of work.”

Our relationship had always been this way, as I was sure it was the same for most brothers. We never said we loved each other unless it was after several beers. We kept in touch as much as we could, but life got in the way.

“Anyway, mate, have to get back to it. Go easy on that journalist. Remember you made the last one cry.”

After I hung up the phone, I pulled up to the gates of my property. My newly built home and three-acre property meant a lot to me. After days filled with loud racing and tiny hotel rooms, it felt so good to come back and have space. At home, I worked on my project car and enjoyed nature. If I had the time, I would have a full hobby farm. Maybe one day.

The little family of ducks I’d been looking after greeted me at the gate. They didn’t think I was mean.

I would rather a naked woman greet me, but we can’t have everything we want, can we?

***

It was Monday morning at Echidna Racing. You might think a racing team headquarters would be full of excitement, loud noises, and fun, but in actual fact, it was just as boring as any other office.

I was on the phone with my mum when Chris strolled in with the journalist.

She peered from behind him, all five-foot-nothing of her. Her heels alone must have been five inches. How the hell was she going to follow me around at my pace with those things on?

Chris said something about getting off the phone, so I quickly ended it and turned my attention back to Chris and his sidekick. He introduced me to Harper Allenwright from The Sydney Daily.

Her long blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and she brushed it out of the way to extend a hand to me.

“Hello, Thomas,” she said. “Great to meet you.” Her hazel eyes darted from me to Chris as she spoke. She was beautiful, and I could tell she was intelligent. I could also tell that she was not going to take any of my shit .

I welcomed the challenge.

So, I decided not to shake her hand and see how she’d take it.

“Now, I’ll let you two get acquainted,” Chris mumbled, before looking at Harper and adding, “And Harper, remember what I said.” He then nodded to the woman as he left the room. Cryptic.

Now it was just the two of us. I was going to have fun with this.